


Boxed In

by My_Alter_Ego



Series: White Collar Discussions [16]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Captivity, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22000288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: “Peter, I think I’ve been buried alive,” Neal murmured worriedly, desperately trying to keep the panicked quiver from his voice.
Relationships: Neal Caffrey & Mozzie, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Series: White Collar Discussions [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472945
Comments: 14
Kudos: 118





	Boxed In

Peter Burke was awakened just after 2 AM by a call from the Monitoring Service telling him that Neal’s anklet had stopped transmitting just minutes before. The Marshals were on their way to the last known transmission location received from the device which was a nondescript bar in Tribeca.

“I’m on my way!” Peter replied, suddenly fully awake and alert. While driving though the darkened streets, Peter tried to get a handle on this unexpected development. Peter always knew that Neal could flee at the drop of his iconic Fedora. An ankle bracelet was certainly not a deterrent for the wily con man if he decided to seek out greener and less constricting pastures. But Peter suspected that, deep down, Neal stayed at the FBI for his handler’s benefit. As unfathomable as it seemed, he and his CI had developed a sort of mutual trust and respect. Add to that the undeniable fact that Neal seemed to enjoy using his amazing intellect to take down bad guys. He was instrumental in taking one down now—Ming Zhāng, a Chinese national as evil as they come. Zhāng was the mastermind behind the smuggling of underage Chinese girls from their home country into New York to be sexually abused and tortured by depraved sociopaths found by the dozens on the Dark Web. Peter and Neal were closing in on his so-called “exotic” import-export business in Manhattan. Neal abhorred violence of any kind, and he tended to place females on a pedestal. The girls who were currently being exploited and maimed made Neal that much more determined to put Zhāng permanently out of business. So, in a nutshell, Peter knew in his gut that Neal had not disappeared intentionally, and that made Peter’s stomach twist in worry. When Peter reached Tribeca, he discovered that not only had the Marshals recovered Neal’s neatly sliced ankle monitor from the dirty gutter, they also had the con man’s phone in their hands.

“We had our techs trace his cell,” the lead officer explained, “and we found some homeless guy squatting a few blocks away using it. He was trying to place a collect call to the White House when we interrupted him. The dude seems a bit befuddled but harmless, and the local cops say he’s a regular around here. He just panhandles, but he’s never a menace to anybody. When we talked to him, he claims he was dumpster diving behind some local bar and ‘found’ the phone.”

Although the cellphone was encased in a plastic evidence bag, Peter was savvy enough to realize that a multitude of people had already handled it, thus making fingerprints a blur of useless smudges. Nonetheless, Peter put on a pair of latex gloves and pulled it out of the bag. He accessed the speed dial function and pushed #1. A few seconds later, Peter’s own phone chimed in his pocket. Next, the investigating agent pushed #2, and this time it took a bit longer to get a response.

“What’s up, mon frère?” Peter eventually heard Mozzie’s voice over an orchestral overture playing in the background.

“Where’s Neal?” Peter barked impatiently.

“Suit?” Mozzie replied hesitantly. “Why are you calling me from Neal’s phone?”

“Neal’s missing, Mozzie,” Peter replied, “and if you know anything about that, you’d better tell me. His anklet’s been cut and his phone tossed in a dumpster. This is serious, so you’d better come clean or you’ll live to regret it!”

“Cool it, Suit!” Mozzie replied in exasperation. “Just stop with all your stupid threats that don’t amount to a hill of beans. I know this is serious because Neal would never just leave without telling me. Where was he last? Of course, you would know that since Big Brother is _always_ watching!”

“A bar called _Benton’s_ in Tribeca,” Peter tried to temper his tone.

“Okay, that makes some sense,” Mozzie replied thoughtfully. “I arranged a meet for Neal through one of my underground sources at that same tavern. He was supposed to wait for one of Zhāng’s hoodlums to show up. Apparently, even some thugs have a conscience. The guy was freaked out by the depths of depravity surrounding that sex ring and the torture of prepubescent girls. He was going to try to broker a deal through Neal. He’d anonymously supply some damning evidence so that you Feds could do your thing, and you’d return the favor by keeping him out of the limelight.”

“Well, apparently, it didn’t go according to plan, “Peter mused. “Maybe it was just a trap for Neal, and now he’s been taken out of play.”

“When you say, ‘taken out of play,’ Suit, does that mean you think he might be dead?” Mozzie whispered.

“I don’t know what to think,” Peter answered just as faintly. “However, right now I have to inform the Marshals that this whole thing is going to be treated as an abduction rather than a paroled criminal fleeing, and White Collar is taking over. Neal’s one of ours and we take care of our own.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, Peter and his team were hard at work but making absolutely no progress in finding Neal. Jones had scoured every inch of street cam footage around the Tribeca bar, and he even widened the search to include a mile radius around where Neal’s anklet had been discarded. Nothing popped out at Jones that looked the least bit suspicious. A whole cadre of other Federal agents were out looking for Zhāng, but, so far, he was a ghost. Meanwhile, Diana was compiling a list of Zhāng’s little gang, at least the ones they knew about. White Collar agents would run them to ground, one at a time, and grill them mercilessly for information.

“You may be spinning your wheels, Peter,” Reese Hughes intoned solemnly as he hovered nearby. “You may never find him until somebody stumbles across an unidentified body in some out of the way place. I know that’s not what you all want to hear, but the longer Caffrey’s missing, the less hope there is of finding him alive.”

“Somehow, I think I’d know if Neal were dead,” Peter whispered to Diana after Hughes had returned to his office. “I’d feel it in my gut, as absurd as that sounds.”

“Your gut’s always been pretty reliable, Boss,” Diana quirked a sad smile. “Don’t begin to doubt yourself now.” Diana’s blind faith in Peter was the only thing motivating the female agent at this point in the stalled investigation. Her more harshly logical side was warning her that it was a futile exercise.

Jones was just as tenacious in his quest, although he was running out of avenues to pursue. Even Mozzie was all over this, working his numerous street contacts like a madman when he wasn’t calling to pester Peter for updates. When Peter saw “unknown caller” pop up on his phone yet again, he answered tiredly, “Nothing new here, Haversham!”

“Oh, but perhaps there is something new where I am, Agent Burke,” a familiar voice sneered. Peter sat up straighter as he recognized the sound of Ming Zhāng’s voice, a voice he had listened to over many hours of useless wiretapping. Peter quickly got his team’s attention by twirling his finger in the air, and they immediately began a trace on the incoming call.

“Why are you calling me?” Peter asked to draw out the time.

“Surely, you must know,” Zhāng chuckled. “You seemed to have misplaced one of your minions, isn’t that true?”

“Okay, Zhāng, let’s cut to the chase!” Peter snarled. “Where’s Neal Caffrey? Tell me what you’ve done with him! If you’ve killed him, I will hunt you down and use my bare hands to tear you apart!”

“My, my, that’s quite an explosive response, Agent Burke,” Zhāng taunted. “Perhaps that handsome young man means more to you than just being an asset in your stable of confidential informants. You’ve exposed your Achilles Heel, I’m afraid, and that little lapse is going to cost you and your CI dearly. He will die slowly, and you will get to hear him take his very last breath. It’s all arranged. I’ve sent you a link to a live audio feed where he is presently being held captive. You can talk to him, at least for a little while, until his air runs out.”

“Zhāng, there is nowhere you can hide. If Neal dies, then so do you. You can take that as a threat or a promise, but, regardless, it will happen,” Peter seethed.

“Is that so? I think not,” the Chinese gangster said pleasantly. “I believe the United States government may find it difficult to get the Peoples Republic of China to agree to extradition given the current political state of affairs. But, by all means, give it your best shot.” Then the line went dead.

Peter’s team shook their heads in frustration. They hadn’t been able to trace the call. A second later, Peter’s laptop pinged indicating he had a new message. It was a link to click on. If Zhāng had been telling the truth, this was the only lifeline Peter would have to Neal. Unfortunately, that IP address was also untraceable. It flitted around the world from server to server like a hummingbird on steroids.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Neal swam back to consciousness, the first thing he was aware of was a pounding headache that resonated in his skull like a base drum. The second thing was the inkiness of complete darkness surrounding him without the slightest bit of ambient light. He cautiously brought a hand to his face and discovered that his chin was wet, making him suspect that he had been unconscious and drooling for quite a while. He automatically felt the pocket of his jacket for his phone, but it was no longer there. Next, he tried to raise his throbbing head, but after just a few inches, it came into contact with a hard surface and he winced in pain. Carefully exploring with his hands, Neal found that the surface above him felt like rough wood, and, as he ran his fingers along its length, that assumption was confirmed when he acquired quite a few splinters for his trouble. The sides of his enclosure were also wood, successfully hemming his body in tightly. Neal wiggled further down in what appeared to be a box until his feet touched resistance. It was almost impossible for him to bend his knees for leverage, but, nonetheless, he tried pushing and then kicking the end panel with his feet. It didn’t budge.

Trying not to panic, Neal methodically let his fingers explore every inch of his wooden prison hoping to find a nail or a screw that he could attempt to dislodge. That also was a fruitless search. The lid of what felt like a crude coffin was firmly sealed from the outside. Neal had been in tight situations before, but this seemed overwhelming, and he fought the urge to hyperventilate. He was talking himself through relaxation techniques when he inexplicably heard Peter’s voice insistently calling his name over and over, making him wonder if he was hallucinating.

“Peter?” he whispered tentatively.

“Neal, thank God!” Peter breathed out in a rush. “Are you okay? I’ve been calling your name for what seems like forever and you didn’t answer. Can you tell me where you are?”

“Peter, I think I’ve been buried alive,” Neal murmured worriedly, desperately trying to keep the panicked quiver from his voice.

“Tell me what you see, Neal. Describe what’s around you,” Peter insisted.

“I can’t see anything. That’s the problem,” Neal answered. “I think I’m lying inside some kind of wooden box that feels like it’s a crude coffin. It’s about 18 inches across, maybe 18 inches deep, and since I’m able to stretch out, I’m guessing it’s at least six feet long.”

“Do you remember how you wound up there?” Peter next asked.

“I’m drawing a blank,” Neal admitted. “I think I remember having a drink and then there’s nothing after that.”

“You were probably roofied, Buddy, and that’s why you can’t remember. Mozzie said you were meeting with one of Zhāng’s henchmen in a Tribeca bar, and we found your anklet and your phone nearby. Then the evil man himself called to tell me that he had snatched you, and he took great pains to set up this audio link to make it real for me.”

“Wait, go back a step,” Neal said in a confused tone. “Mozzie’s really agreeing to help you?”

Peter snorted. “Don’t laugh, Buddy, but I temporarily deputized Haversham so he could come over to the dark side.”

“Moz is a good man to have with you when you’re hunkered down in a foxhole,” Neal said fondly. “Although I wouldn’t want him stuck in this particular claustrophobic and scary foxhole with me.”

“I’m going to find you, Neal. I promise,” Peter answered solemnly. “It’s what I do. They’ll probably etch that as an epitaph on my tombstone: _Here lies_ _Peter Burke, the man who spent his life searching for Neal Caffrey.”_

“Peter, I gotta tell you, this is really starting to freak me out. I’m not used to feeling helpless and vulnerable,” the young con man admitted.

“Neal, listen to me. We have every nerdy geek in the Agency working on tracking this feed. Hughes even called in a favor with the big boys at NSA, so we also have very powerful secret algorithms and all that cyber gearhead stuff in play courtesy of the Defense Department. We will find you,” Peter vowed.

“Wow, so everybody is taking this seriously,” Neal whispered in awe.

“Damn straight!” Peter replied. “Now, I have to put some things in motion, so hang tough for a minute. I’ll be right back.” Peter then turned to Jones and Diana. “Find out from all of the city’s funeral directors where any burials occurred early today in each of the five boroughs. I don’t care if we have to dig up a dozen dead people if we manage to unearth one live one.”

Reese Hughes had been standing nearby. He didn’t have the heart to tell Peter that disinterring the deceased entailed legalities that took time—time they didn’t have right now. It just wasn’t going to happen even under the auspices of exigent circumstances.

“You still with me, Neal?” Peter asked as he turned back to his laptop.

“I guess, in a way, I’m still with you, Peter,” the young captive answered softly. “Please don’t go away again. If I hear your voice, then I don’t feel so alone. Just keep talking.”

“Sure, okay, Neal,” Peter readily agreed. “What would you like to talk about?”

“Anything, I guess,” Neal said pitifully. “How about our first case together.”

“Ah, the Dutchman,” Peter reminisced, since apparently Neal wanted to take a walk down memory lane. “You were pretty clever, Kiddo, and your innovative insight was the reason we managed to nail Curtis Hagan.”

“I would take a bow if I could stand up,” Neal deadpanned. “And you were so pleased with that win that you celebrated by taking your amazing wife to Belize. It was the right thing to do, Peter. You have to keep the special ladies in your life happy. If you don’t, they just slip right through your fingers and disappear.”

Peter intuited that Neal was speaking of Kate, not Elizabeth, but he didn’t challenge the guy on it. He just let Neal’s conversation meander.

“I’ve never been to Belize,” Neal admitted, “so tell me what you did during that week.”

“Oh, you know, the usual stuff—lying on a beach, a little snorkeling,” Peter said lamely.

“How about what you did after the sun went down, Peter? I’ll bet the sheets got pretty hot in your little thatched hut,” Neal snickered.

“Neal, I feel obliged to tell you that we’re both on speaker, and we have quite a little audience avidly listening,” Peter issued the warning.

As if on cue, Diana called out, “Hi, Neal,” followed by Jones and his gruff, “Hey, Caffrey!”

“I’m here, as well,” Hughes said soberly, “so you may not want to make any disparaging remarks about me, young man.”

“Of course not, Sir,” Neal quickly replied. “I would never dream of bad mouthing you.” Without missing a beat, Neal returned to comforting nostalgia and Peter. “I’ll bet you never thought I’d still be sticking around after you got back from your vacation.”

Peter snorted. “To be honest, I did have my doubts. But I figured if you had taken off, I’d just have to find you again. Like I said, it had become the story of my life for quite a while.”

“It seems as if you were pretty confident about being successful,” Neal teased.

“Yep, I was confident then and I’m confident now. I will always find you, Neal,” Peter stressed each word of the last sentence for the young man’s benefit.

“But maybe not in time today,” Neal replied softly. “It’s become stuffier in this enclosure and I’m getting sleepy, so I’m probably running out of oxygen. Could you ask everyone to go away so that I can say some private things meant for your ears only? I don’t know how much longer I’ve got before I won’t be able to talk anymore.”

Peter hastily plugged in earbuds so that Neal’s words couldn’t be heard. “Go on, Buddy, say what you need to say. Nobody but me can hear you.”

Neal breathed out a sigh. “Peter, I want to thank you for taking a chance on me and letting me work beside you these last few years. Not many people would have offered me that kind of trust, considering my reputation. I’ve come to think of you as a friend rather than a handler, and I’m glad you came into my life. You may not want to believe it, but you have changed me in so many ways. I’m really going to miss you.”

“Neal, stop right now,” Peter intoned sharply. “It’s not the end for you or us. I’m going to rescue you. That’s my job and what I do, and your job is to keep on breathing until I get there.”

“Tell me that you’ll get Zhāng, Peter. Get the bastard and make him pay,” Neal said vehemently.

“I will—you can take that to the bank!” Peter almost shouted.

“Just one more thing,” Neal pleaded weakly, ignoring Peter’s outburst. “You know I grew up in witness protection, so please try to pull some strings with the US Marshals so that you can find my mother and tell her I’m sorry for leaving the way I did.”

“I promise, Neal,” Peter replied thickly as emotion overwhelmed him and tears filled his eyes.

Suddenly, Diana was waving frantically at Peter with a phone in her hand. “Boss, I’ve got Mozzie on the line. He somehow managed to finagle the address of a warehouse in the meatpacking district that’s one of Zhāng’s off the books facilities.”

“Mozzie?” Peter shouted into the receiver.

“Yeah, Suit, I’m texting you the address of where I’m headed now. Bring SWAT, scent dogs, EMTs—hell, just bring the whole kit and caboodle cavalry. I’m betting Neal is stuffed somewhere in that hidey-hole and we have to find him pronto!”

“I’m coming, Neal. Hold on,” Peter shouted at the laptop, but a cold hand gripped his heart when he got no answering response.

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter had pulled out all the stops, so when he came on the scene with his cop bubble and siren announcing his arrival, he was met with an army of responders. He gave SWAT the go-ahead to ram down the door, warrants be damned. This was definitely exigent circumstances, and Peter dared anyone to say otherwise. Mozzie quickly sidled up with Neal’s favorite hat in his hand, and the animal handlers brought their pair of canines in for a good whiff. The two German Shepherds immediately set about their task and it wasn’t long before they both glommed onto an innocuous wooden packing crate in a corner. Peter was actually the one to pry off the lid with a crowbar, and his breath caught in his throat when he beheld his young partner, pale and still, lying inside what was meant to be his sarcophagus.

~~~~~~~~~~

For the second time in just twenty-four hours, Neal fought his way back to consciousness. He blinked sluggishly and moved his head around, quickly catching sight of both Peter and Mozzie staring down at him.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, mon frère,” Mozzie said fondly as a huge smile transformed his face. Peter was grinning, too, and placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Yeah, Buddy, welcome back. You had us a bit worried, but it seems like you’re one tough cookie.”

Neal groaned. “I don’t feel very tough right now. I feel as limp as a piece of spaghetti.”

“Ah, c’mon, Neal,” Peter prodded. “Everybody knows you’re resilient and you’ll bounce back and be tweaking everyone’s nerves in the office in just a few days. You and your antics were greatly missed. And, just so you know, the Swiss police took Ming Zhāng off a Lufthansa flight in Bern. He was probably picking up some of his dirty money before taking a connecting flight to Hong Kong. If he had managed to enter a country with 1.4 billion people, he would have been lost to us forever.”

“I’m not surprised,” Neal said dryly. “Special Agent Peter Burke always manages to get his man.”


End file.
